


Work Of Human Hands

by bemusedlybespectacled (ardentintoxication)



Series: The Continuing Adventures of Kink N00b Matt Murdock [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Community: daredevilkink, Face Slapping, Femdom, Gen, Good BDSM Etiquette, Hair-pulling, Masochism, No Sex, Paddling, Safewords, in which I continue to write anti-50 Shades porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:56:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentintoxication/pseuds/bemusedlybespectacled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In college, frustrated and in need of an outlet for his stress, Matt Murdock visits a dungeon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work Of Human Hands

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=20437#cmt20437) and [this prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=57045#cmt57045) at the kink meme.
> 
> As always, this is not a how-to-BDSM guide. More on how Matt Murdock is the worst masochist ever in the endnotes.

Going to the club is probably a mistake. It's crowded and noisy, someone in the room reeks of aftershave, and he has no idea what he even wants to do there. He's been on the internet, of course, but that means nothing compared to the reality of it. Real people breathe loudly and sweat and dear  _God_  someone in this room hasn't washed his hair in a week. But he's been stressed out lately, from finals, from listening to the sirens in his city, and training, like scratching his own itch, isn't cutting it right now, no matter how tired he is at the end of it.

This is different, he figures. If punching a bag at the gym isn't working, he'll let someone punch him. Or whatever it is that they do here: their website only vaguely alludes to the activities that he can hear going on around him in graphic and intimate detail.

"First time?" The voice comes from a spot below his shoulder. It's a woman, maybe in her twenties (lavender detergent, denim, probably had Italian two days ago, mint toothpaste).

"Uh, yeah," he says. "How'd you guess?"

"Besides the fact that I've never seen a blind guy in here before? You're up against a wall, dude. Non-newbies do not hug the wall. So," she says, and he feels her taking a place next to him, "what're you in for?"

"I don't know," he says, truthfully. "I've never done anything of this before." He emphasizes _this_ with a gesture around the room.

"Do you have at least a vague idea of which way you'd like to do things? Like, do you want to be  _doing_  the do or having the do done _to_ you?"

Matt laughs. "Done to me. I think."

"Huh," she says. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a masochist."

"I'm Catholic," he says, "comes with the territory."

He can hear the swish of her hair and knows she's thrown back her head to laugh. "I'm Catholic, too. Well, raised Catholic, anyway." A pause. "Right, you can't see this, but I'm totally waiting for a high-five."

Matt holds out his hand. Hers is a lot smaller than his.

"So what about you?" he asks.

"Hmm, me? Switch. It's not just swinging both ways, it's swinging in  _all_  the ways." She snickers. "But I don't like to bottom to anybody I don't know. Not always a safe thing, you know?"

Matt nods. "And topping?"

"Oh, topping I can do to anybody, doesn't even have to be sexual. Why, you want to?"

He can hear her heartbeat speed up, but that's excitement and nerves, familiar from when he asks a girl out on a date. And anyway, she seems trustworthy, and if she isn't, well, he outweighs her even without his training. And the dungeon, he knows, has monitors in case something goes wrong.

"If that's okay with you?"

"Sure," she says, and there's a breathy quality to her voice that wasn't there before. "Just have to talk to my boyfriend."

Matt raises an eyebrow. "Boyfriend?"

"It's not cheating if he approves!" she says cheerily. "Gimme a sec."

He focuses on her as she walks away from him, listens as she tells someone (taller than she is, menthol shampoo) her plans, makes a joke, kisses him, calls him "babe."

When she comes back she's still giggling, and carrying a duffle bag. "The dungeon has its own furniture," she explains. "Suspension cuffs, St. Andrew's Cross, uh, there's a cage in the corner if you're into that. I also have my own rope and these handcuffs that are pretty nice. Or I can just beat on you and not tie you up at all. Your call."

"What kind of rope?"

"Nylon," she says. "Because I'm poor. Hufflepuff colors, though, so you'll be tied up in style."

"Can I feel it?"

"Sure," she says, and unzips the duffle bag and rummages through it. "Here."

The rope is smooth, with a distinct grain. It's a lot softer and thinner than the ropes he's felt around construction sites and dockyards. It's also a lot less overwhelming, stimulation-wise, than he expected.

"I could get tied up with this," he says. He hands the rope back to her and she puts it back in the bag.

"Cool," she says. "Let's find an empty corner, then."

She lets him take her elbow, and she walks him towards a quieter part of the dungeon. "Quieter" being a relative term - he can hear the sounds of people being slapped, smell melting wax.

"House safeword here is 'red,'" she says. "Which was on the sign outside, but I'm guessing you didn't see that."

Matt shakes his head. "Nope."

"Didn't think so. Um..." She breathes hard, unzipping the duffle bag slowly. "So, just to be clear, I've never done this with a blind guy before? So if I'm being, I don't know, weird, just tell me. Also tell me if I'm doing something that isn't cool with you, okay?"

She's getting dangerously close to mollycoddling him, which is the opposite of what Matt wants, so when she holds out a couple of implements for him to feel - "This is all my shit, I can explain what they do if you need me to" - he latches on to what he thinks will be the most painful. "This one."

"The paddle?"

"Yes."

"On your first try? I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"I'm not made of glass."

"Neither am I, but look, dude, I've done the sub frenzy thing? Or the masochist frenzy thing, whatever. Either way, I'm not letting you try stuff just so you can prove that you're the best masochist in the room, or whatever."

"I'm not trying to prove anything," Matt says, but it sounds unconvincing even to his ears.

"Sure you aren't." She sighs. "Look, I'll do this, but we stop when someone safewords. And I will not hesitate to safeword out if I think it's fucking you up. Fair?"

Matt nods. "Sure."

"Great. Okay. Anything I shouldn't do?"

"Not that I can think of."

"So I could slice your fingers off and shove them up your ass?" She laughs. "Dude, seriously, gimme some kind of limits here. Or, here, I'll tell you mine." He senses that she's counting off with her fingers. "Nothing that's not allowed in the dungeon, so: no sex. No body fluids that aren't tears or sweat: if you think you'll come just from getting hit, I'm getting a condom, because I'm  _not_  touching that shit. And I'm not fucking around with breathplay or humiliation or anything, this is just going to be some good, clean spanking." He can hear her fingers slide across her face: she's stroking her chin. "Though I'm really tempted to smack you in the face. Do you want to get smacked in the face?"

His "yes" is maybe a bit too eager, because she giggles. "Okay, face slapping is cool. Uh, do you know the traffic lights system?"

"Red, yellow, green?"

"Awesome. See, you're not a complete noob. And aftercare?"

"I don't need aftercare."

"You know, if you were an experienced guy, I wouldn't mind, but I am sure as hell not letting you walk out of here without some kind of aftercare."

Matt shrugs. "Then whatever you think best, and I'll say if I don't need it then."

"Cool. Okay, then, clothes off, but underwear stays on."

He takes off his shirt and sweater, unzips and pulls down his jeans. Then, because he feels like he should, he sinks to his knees in front of her. She breathes in sharply, then turns brusquely to the duffle bag. "Okay, how to do this?" she murmurs to herself. "Okay, I think you stay on your knees like that... and you put your hands behind your back... thank you..." She loops the rope around his hands until they're in what feels like a set of rope handcuffs. "Two column tie," she explains. "I'd demonstrate, but-"

"Maybe later," he says.

She does and undoes the same knot around his ankles two or three times. "Sorry, keep messing up the last bit. Your hands still comfortable?"

"Yup."

"Good." Finally she maneuvers him into a position with his face pressed into his own folded shirt and jeans, his ass up and exposed to her. "Comfy?"

"Do your worst."

"Dude, not the thing to say to the girl with the big piece of wood." The first hit of the paddle is brutal: it whistles through the air and hits him so hard that he makes a noise through his teeth involuntarily. "How's that?"

"Great," he says honestly.

"Yeah, definitely a masochist." She hits him again, slightly harder. It makes a heavy, thudding sound as it hits, the smooth wood relentless against his thighs. "You color up really nicely."

"Thank you?"

"No, really," she says, hitting him again. "I've barely started and you're already turning pink." Swish, thud.

She starts to pick up a rhythm, steady and predictable. He starts to focus only on the paddle: the whoosh of it through the air and the bloom of pain afterwards.

"What's your color?"

"Green."

"Good."

The pain is taking him somewhere higher, like how he feels when he jumps from one roof to another. Swish, thud. Swish, thud. He hisses in pain and pleasure and- she stops again.

"Color?"

"Green," he says, more urgently. "Harder, please."

"Sure."

It's not too much for him. If anything, it's not enough. It's perfect, it's blocking out every extraneous thought, every sound he's not concentrating on. Swish, thud. Swish, thud. He's lost count of how many times she's hit him, but she's sweating a bit, though he can't tell if it's from the weight of the paddle or just from the heat of the room. He wants her to put more strength behind the blows, he wants her to hit him until he breaks-

"Color?" she asks, breaking his concentration.

"Would you stop asking that?" Matt asks, exasperated.

The paddle bangs against her thigh, and she's grabbing his hair and pulling it back, pulling him off the ground and back on his knees, before he has a chance to breathe.

"I'm sorry, who's in charge here?" She's angry. Good. Maybe if she's angry, she'll hit him harder. There's a noise as she holds the paddle between her knees. Still holding his hair with one hand, she smacks him across the face with the other. Almost immediately she backhands him, evening the distribution of pain. "I asked you a question, asshole."

"You are?" She slaps him again, harder.

"Sorry, can't hear you." She's not wearing any rings, but her knuckles are hard enough. He can't turn his head to avoid it, or even take the blow, without pulling his hair, and fuck, it's visceral, maybe more than the paddle. He does anyway, just to feel the sharp pinpricks of pain, and yet it's not enough.

"You are," he says, a bit louder.

"Glad to know we're on the same page." Forehand, backhand. His cheeks are getting red. He might even bruise.

She drags his head back by the hair and leans in close enough that he can feel her breath on his face. "If I want to check in _every fucking time I hit you_ , I will. And why do I get to do that?"

"Because you're in charge here."

"Very good," she says, too-sweetly, almost patronizing. She smacks him again. "Though I don't think this is getting through to you. I mean, you know what they say about masochists." Her backhand skims dangerously close to his nose.

"I don't, actually." He's breathing hard. When did he start breathing hard?

"The best way to punish a masochist is to not hurt them at all." She leans in close to his ear again. "Is that what you want?"

"No," Matt says, too quickly.

"Are you sure? Maybe I'm not being dom-ly enough for you." Slap. "Not hardcore enough." Slap. "Maybe I should just untie you and let someone else deal with you." Slap. "I'll treat you however the fuck I want to treat you, and that means actually giving a fuck about whether or not I'm hurting you, and if you have a problem with that-" Slap. "-then you can fucking safeword right now."

"Please-"

"Are. You going. To safeword?"

"No."

"Good." She lets go of his hair. "Then get your ass in the air."

She picks up the paddle from between her legs and starts to hit him again, and it's worse now: the rhythm he had before has been broken, and it's on top of his already sore ass. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't need to. Again, his world shrinks to the feel of the paddle, the feel of air on his skin and the blow immediately after, the wake of it as she pulls back for another swing. Finally, she stops.

"Fuck this. Red." The paddle makes a clunking noise as it falls to the floor. He feels her hands on his wrists, undoing the knots, but his head is spinning, his breath is stuttering in his chest. She pulls something from the duffle bag, but he can't focus to figure out what it is until it's around him: a shaggy fleece blanket. The sensation is so intense to his already sensitive skin that he flinches. "Hey,  _hey_." Her voice is softer now. "You okay?"

His "yeah" is more of a sob, and it occurs to him that there are tears on his face. He thinks he might have started crying when the blanket touched his skin, and that thought - that _that_ , of all things, was what broke him - only makes him feel worse. She's holding him through the blanket as best she can, but their respective sizes make it awkward. She doesn't make any effort to touch his face or his hair, and he almost wants to ask her to, but he doesn't know how. Instead, he curls in to her, takes whatever touch he can, however removed. She's quiet, which unnerves him after how talkative she was earlier. He finds other sounds to listen to: her heartbeat, a bit on the fast side but strong; a needle punching through someone's skin across the room; the loud cracking noise of a violet wand.

Eventually, she says, "I should have asked about the hair-pulling. Sorry."

He shakes his head. "'S fine. I liked it."

Footsteps and menthol shampoo. "Hey, babe, I'm still a bit busy." She rubs Matt's arm through the blanket. "Dude, you want a drink of water?"

His mouth is dry and his head is still spinning, but now that he's calmed down, it's more like being pleasantly buzzed. "Yeah?"

Her boyfriend walks away and pours water into a paper cup. "Benefits of having a full-time sub," she says softly. "I don't have to get up to get my own drinks." She pets him through the blanket again, and he relaxes into it. "Wow, you're wiped," she says, awed. "If you think you can handle it, we can go to the aftercare room. Next door. We're taking up space here."

"Don't wanna get up," he slurs, and she laughs.

"Well, I'm not big enough to carry you. Come to think of it, I don't think he's big enough to carry you, either." "He" is her boyfriend, returning with the water. "Can you hold it or are you gonna spill it?"

"I can hold it." His hands are shaking, but he can hold it. The water is cool without being cold, and he drains the entire thing greedily. "Thank you."

"No problem," she says. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," he says. "Sore. Spin-y."

"I'll bet. You're definitely going to have bruises; I'm going to guess for at least a week, but they shouldn't be sore for more than a day or two. And you have rope burn, but that'll be gone in, oh, a couple minutes, maybe. But it was good?"

"It was amazing," he says honestly.

"Yay! I got to pop your masochist cherry!" she says in a sing-song voice. Her heartbeat speeds up and her breath hitches before she says, "Good enough that you'd want to do it more?"

Matt nods.

"Awesome."

**Author's Note:**

> Production notes:
> 
>   * Seriously, Matt Murdock is the worst masochist ever. You do _not_ tell your top/dom that you don't have limits, because that's a very good way to get into a situation you don't like.
>   * I'm very much a sting-y person, not a thud-y person, so I have not used a paddle on myself or others. This is entirely from what I've observed/researched.
>   * [The Hufflepuff rope is real!](https://www.agreeableagony.com/products/kinky-harry-potter-school-kits?variant=18583003073) Nylon is cheaper than most other rope materials (like jute, silk, or hemp), but it doesn't hold a knot as well and can't be used for certain kinds of activities (like suspension). We'll assume that unnamed OFC had safety shears in her duffle bag.
> 



End file.
